


Seventeen Christmas Cards

by cjmarlowe



Category: But I'm a Cheerleader (1999)
Genre: College, F/F, Post-Movie, holiday story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 03:22:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5481503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjmarlowe/pseuds/cjmarlowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So is this a thing now?" said Graham. "Are we people who get Christmas cards?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seventeen Christmas Cards

**Author's Note:**

  * For [antarctic (ohargos)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohargos/gifts).



_one_

The gift appeared precisely twenty-eight days before Christmas in a perfect pink box with a perfect pink bow and a perfect pink gift tag addressed to Megan Bloomfield, and Megan alone. _Appeared_ , because there had been no sign of delivery; when they went out the table had been empty, and when they came back there it sat. 

Graham took one look at it, lifted her chin and shouted back over her shoulder, "Megan, your mother's been here!"

"My mother's here?"

"No, she's _been_ here. There's a...thing." A very pink, very girly thing. Graham felt mildly nauseated. Either it was from Megan's mother, or...well, the alternatives weren't something she wanted to contemplate. "When did you give her a key?"

"I didn't," said Megan, appearing in the doorway. "My father has a key, though."

"That's practically the same thing," said Graham, even though it wasn't. Not exactly. "I've met your father. This is definitely not from your father."

"No," agreed Megan. "He would've come with her, though. There's probably something in the fridge, too. And some money in the cookie jar."

"In the cookie jar?"

"That's where he thinks all women keep their money. You know he doesn't think I'm old enough to be on my own yet."

Given the decisions that Megan's parents had made for her when she wasn't on her own, as far as Graham was concerned Megan was better off out of that house than in it. But of course it was more complicated than that. These things always were.

"You're not on your own, you're with me," she said. Megan didn't argue that wasn't the point. "Besides, if he didn't want you to be on your own then they shouldn't have—"

"It's good for people to live away from home when they're in college," Megan interrupted her. "It's healthy to assert some independence."

"Worth it for he privacy alone," agreed Graham, putting an arm around her waist and almost succeeding in dragging her attention away from the offending gift. She was never going to forget what the lack of privacy in her own childhood home had gotten her, and the pretty pink package was just a reminder of everything, of all of that.

"I should open it, though."

"I'm not sure presents like that are meant to be opened," said Graham. "Maybe we should just put the whole box on the shelf just as it is. The shelf in the closet."

"Now don't be silly," said Megan, kissing her before pushing her away. The card—tasteful poinsettias on a white background—confirmed the gift was from her parents, and the box popped open to reveal an equally pink reflective bauble, which she dangled off her finger.

"What are we going to do with that? We don't even have a tree."

"But we will have a tree," said Megan. "Of course we're going to put a tree up. That's what people do, and we're people now."

 

_two_

It was a few days before the next card arrived, this time in the usual way: deposited in the mailbox in the lobby downstairs along with two flyers for local pizza places and the overdue phone bill. Megan opened it on the spot, with a little squeal of glee. Other than the one from her family, which didn't really count, this was her first Christmas card in her own place. It was special.

Hilary sent them a Santa with a surfboard, next to a wide blue ocean. Megan wished she'd written more about how she was doing, about _what_ she was doing now and about her life after True Directions, but the card alone clearly a means of opening up communications, and when she went back upstairs it went up on the television next to the one from her mother.

 

_three_

Graham put the bluebird-in-the-snow card up on top of the microwave. "I don't get it. Joel's Jewish."

"So?" said Megan, reaching out and straightening it a little. "I sent him a Hanukkah card. He's just returning the favor."

"Hanukkah doesn't start for, like, two weeks."

"It's not rude to be early," said Megan. "I think it's sweet."

"So is this a thing now? Are we people who get Christmas cards?"

"Aren't all people people who get Christmas cards?" said Megan. "I wish we had a mantle to put them on. We're going to run out of room."

"A mantle?" said Graham. "Like, an actual mantle? For a fireplace? We're lucky we have _heat_."

The house she grew up in had a fireplace. In fact, it had two. With Christmas cards from strangers set neatly in a row on each, spaced perfectly between the Greek vases. In retrospect, she could have used the Greek artwork for her root.

"Or a fake mantle. A fake mantle would do," said Megan, but the microwave would do for now, and they could figure out something better later, if that was something they turned out to need.

 

_four_

Megan had cheer practice, because apparently that was a thing that happened year round, and Graham was writing her last mid-term, so no one got the mail until almost dinnertime. So the festive reindeer envelope sat in the mailbox all day, something inside occasionally bursting into lonesome song.

"I think it's only supposed to play after you open it," said Megan, laughing at the singing envelope that Graham held up between them. "It must have gotten damaged on its way."

The envelope was already slightly torn at the corner, making it easy to tear open. A few bits of white paper drifted down to the kitchen floor. Megan though the song was supposed to Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, but it was running at half speed and skipping some of the notes so it was kind of hard to tell.

"We aren't actually going to put that up, though, right?" said Graham. "Can you imagine being woken up by that noise in the middle of the night?"

"But André would be so disappointed if we didn't!" said Megan. And it was possible he might visit for a glass of egg-nog and notice that it wasn't hanging up anywhere; Megan didn't want to take that chance. But she was also a little bit worried that the mangled Christmas song might give her nightmares. "We can take the battery out?"

"I'll get right on that," said Graham. "You can figure out where we're going to put it."

"We're going to have to put up some string," said Megan thoughtfully. "Or is that just wishful thinking?"

"Your wish, not mine," said Graham, and gave her a quick kiss and Megan didn't miss that she was smiling as she said it. No one _really_ minded getting holiday cards, after all. Probably.

 

_five_

"Merry Christmas, time to get your teeth cleaned," said Graham, passing her the festive postcard over toast and orange juice.

Megan smiled at the card, and the gigantic mouth on the card smiled back. It went on the fridge, under a banana magnet. Graham took the banana off a moment later and replaced it with a mango.

 

_six_

It was a couple more days before the white envelope decorated with orange trim and lettering arrived, on a Friday morning with a slim letter from the university. Something about her scholarship money coming in, Graham hoped.

"Who's this one from, your gynaecologist?" said Graham. "Are we going to be getting festive greetings from all of our health care professionals? Wait...does this mean we have to send cards back to all these people too?"

"I already did," said Megan. "Two weeks ago. I sent out sixty-eight cards total, but of course they won't all be reciprocated. I didn't think you'd mind that I put your name on them too."

"Do I look like the kind of person who sends Christmas cards?"

"Obviously not," said Megan, kissing her before plucking the card from her hand. "That's why I did it for the both of us. Oh, look, it's from Kimberley!"

"Who's Kimberley?"

"My...friend. From high school. I haven't seen her since..."

"Actual friend, or friend who got you put away for being who you are?"

"Can't she be both?"

"No, not really."

"She meant well," said Megan, opening the envelope. It smelled like pine, and she inhaled deeply before pulling it out. Pine trees on a wide snowy plain with Santa's sleigh flying overhead. "Oh! She wants me to come to the cheer reunion!"

"Reunion?" Are you shitting me? You haven't even been out of high school for a year yet, how can you be having a reunion."

"It's not till summer," said Megan. "It's never too soon to reconnect with your sisters. Just because I have a new cheer squad now doesn't mean I'm going to forget my old one."

"You're not actually going to go, are you?"

"You're invited too."

"Just because you've got a plus-one doesn't mean I'm invited."

"No, see?" said Megan, showing her the invitation inside the card. "See? She's stroked out the boy in boyfriend and put girl instead. You might not be invited by name, but you're still invited."

Graham frowned, then unfrowned, then frowned again. "I'm not going to a cheer reunion."

"You have plenty of time to think about it," said Megan, as though it were only a matter of time before she came around. As if the surprise was the only issue. "Where can we put this one?"

"There's room on the VCR," said Graham, only a little grudgingly. The passed by the little Christmas tree on the way there, decorated with white lights and the very few decorations that they owned, including the one from Megan's mother. It was outsized for the tree they had, but it still hung front and centre. Graham flicked it with her fingernail and it made a satisfying little tink, like fracturing glass.

"Careful," said Megan as she placed the card. "I think it's fragile."

"These things usually are," said Graham, but she didn't flick it again.

 

_seven_

There was no attempt made to disguise where this card had come from. The name _True Directions_ was printed proudly in the upper left corner of the envelope, and it had been forwarded here from her parents' address. Megan thought about not even opening it, but curiosity got the better of her. It might have been pleasant. It might even have been an apology.

It wasn't.

She threw it away before she even brought it up to the apartment. After all, it was addressed to her, not Graham, and if Graham had gotten one too it had never made it past her old address.

 

_eight, nine_

Dolph and Clayton's card had rainbows all over it, both the card and the envelope. And on Santa's sleigh. And in Santa's hand. And on the elves, and the reindeer, and Santa's workshop. A small part of Megan wanted to ask them where they'd gotten it, and could she get some more to send out to certain people on next year's Christmas list.

"They are so gay," said Graham, but she gave the card pride of place on their only table, that divided the kitchen area from the living area in a half-assed wall situation. "And so are you."

"Yeah, well, you like me that way," said Megan, opening the other envelope. Which also had a rainbow on it. "Oh, it's from the Campus Pride Alliance."

"Aren't you little miss joiner," said Graham, as if she hadn't come with her to the meetings and held her hand. "They actually send Christmas cards?"

"It's a non-denominational winter holiday card," said Megan, showing it to her. "Isn't it nice?"

Graham made a dismissive noise, but she also put it right next to Dolph and Clayton's card.

 

_ten_

"I was wondering when this was going to get here," said Megan, giving Graham the card to open. "You do this one. That way it'll be a surprise."

"What, you're psychic now? You already know what's in this one?"

"Of course I do," said Megan. "I sent it."

"You sent yourself a card?"

"We all did!" said Megan. "You remember, the card-writing party I went to with the team? We all signed all the cards, and then mailed one to everyone. I told you about it. I was the one who put the snowman stickers on them."

Graham opened the card, a large and very bright monstrosity with stickers and glitter and several signatures on the inside, including Megan's. She wanted to hate it, a little, but it made her smile.

"You really are impossibly girly," she said, shaking her head.

"You _like_ me because I'm a girl," said Megan, giving her a playful nudge. "You knew that ever since you met me."

"Yeah, but you really like all this stuff," said Graham. "The glitter and the pink ornaments and the Christmas card list."

"So?" said Megan, backing off a little again. Graham shouldn't have said anything, but it was out there now and there was no taking it back. She had a really big damn mouth. "I'm allowed to like it, even if you don't."

"I'm sorry," said Graham. "I do. It's just..."

"It's just what?" said Megan. "You think it's stupid?"

"No!" said Graham quickly. "I think it's sweet. It just...reminds me of True Directions is all."

"I remind you of that place?" said Megan, with genuine dismay in her voice. Maybe even horror. "That's a terrible thing to say!"

"It's not you!" said Graham. "It's not your fault. It's just...the femme stuff. I guess it's going to take a little bit longer to get over, that's all."

"Oh," said Megan, and looked sadly at the card that she'd been so pleased about a moment ago. "Do you want me to take it all down?

"No," said Graham, shaking her head. It was an easier decision than she'd thought it would be. "No. Maybe I can just, you know. Balance it out a little more. Maybe I can just get over it."

Megan nodded her head and didn't say anything else as she got up from the table and headed into the bedroom. Graham sighed, and got up too and started to make some lunch. Sandwiches or something, because she just wasn't ever going to be the kind of partner who cooked and decorated and sent holiday greetings.

When she looked back into the living room again, though, she saw that Megan had hung a new ornament on the tree. Black and silver and just as big as the pink one, hanging next to it right at the front of the tree.

 

_eleven_

"I can't believe you got a card from Rock," said Graham, staring at it in genuine disbelief. "I can't believe you even _talk_ to Rock. What's up with that?"

"Well, you've got to feel a little bit sorry for him, don't you? We were only at True Directions for two months. He was _raised_ like that."

"If anyone ever needed proof the whole thing is bullshit."

"Look, he even sent a picture!"

"Who wears crop tops in their Christmas photos?"

"He looks happy."

"And...is that Mike? Right there, in that mirror behind him." Graham jabbed her finger at the corner of the picture, at the very clear reflection. "See? Oh my god, is he really still living at the camp?"

"I don't think so," said Megan, skimming the very short note on the card. "It doesn't _look_ like the camp."

"No, not with those fixtures it doesn't," said Graham. "Huh."

"I don't want to assume anything."

"I do," said Graham. "Let's assume everything, down to her having to keep that place running by herself."

"That's not what I meant," said Megan, frowning. Even after everything, she still found it so hard to be _mean_.

"I know, I know," said Graham. "But look, if you didn't know Rock and Mike wanted to bang from the moment you laid eyes on that place then I don't know what to tell you."

"Well sure," said Megan, "of course I knew that, but that doesn't mean they're...together, like that."

"Pictures don't lie. Didn't they tell you that at your intervention? They tried it at mine, but they didn't really _need_ the pictures in my case." She might have gone on, but then Megan put a hand over hers and squeezed and it was all in the past again. "Besides, who cares? Like you said, he looks happy."

"He really does, doesn't he," said Megan, and smiled and found a place for the card on the bookshelf.

 

_twelve, thirteen, fourteen_

It was the last week before Christmas when the real flurry came in, three in one day though the friendly and borderline-inappropriate postcard from Pandora's Box didn't really count. Not that anyone delivering it would necessarily know; opening boxes at Christmastime was just what one _did_.

"Did you give them our address?"

"Of course not," said Megan. "Who would I even give it to?"

"Not even when you sent them a card?"

"I didn't send a card to the lesbian bar," said Megan. "How weird do you think I am?"

"I think we've already had this conversation and it didn't go well for anyone," said Graham, softening the comment by slipping a hand up under Megan's sweater and sliding her fingers against the small of her back. "Are you going to open the other ones?"

Jan's had a picture of Santa bowling for elves, which was a lot funnier than Graham had ever given her credit for. Sinead sent a piece of paper folded in half with some writing in thick black marker on the inside.

"That's not even a card," said Graham. "Even I wouldn't do something like that."

"It still counts," said Megan. "At least she sent something." Graham thought privately that Sinead was still pissed off about...everything. Not that she had any right to be pissed off. Graham and Megan were the ones who should have been giving her the cold shoulder.

"You sent her a Christmas card?" said Graham. "Really?"

"Well of course I did," said Megan. "I sent one to everyone from True Directions, so they'd know we were thinking about them.

"We're not thinking about them."

"Yes, we are," said Megan, softly but quite seriously. And the truth was, she wasn't wrong. Maybe she didn't want to, but Graham thought about them all the time. Not always _nice_ thoughts, but the memory of it wasn't going anywhere any time soon. They all knew what each other went through there.

Megan finally did pin a length of string on the wall to hang the rest of the cards from, with a paperclip holding up the postcard from the Box. She'd never say so, but it was probably her favourite.

 

_fifteen_

Megan hadn't _really_ been expecting to get anything back from Jared. She'd only sent him a card in the first place to be polite, because it wasn't his fault she was a lesbian and he was a terrible kisser. Like, really terrible. Bad enough she felt sorry for him.

"No offense, but your ex has really girly handwriting," said Graham.

Jared didn't have girly handwriting at all; in fact, Megan had done his homework for him tons of times because it was nearly illegible.

"Oh, it's not from him," she said, reading the card. "I mean, it is, but it's not. His mother wrote this."

"Your ex-boyfriend's mother sent you a Christmas card? Even for you, that's a little strange."

"I think she's hoping we'll get back together," admitted Megan. "Not that that's going to happen, obviously!"

"Obviously," said Graham, and she was smirking and showing no signs of jealousy at all, so Megan relaxed.

"I think he has a new girlfriend now, one who sleeps with him and all," she said. "He's pretty happy, but his mother likes me a lot better now."

"Well, what mother wouldn't love their son to bring someone like you home?" said Graham, pushing Megan's hair back behind her ear for her.

"I guess we're never going to know," said Megan, "because there's only one person's family I want to meet now."

Neither one of them said anything, but Megan knew what Graham was thinking. And it was okay that she was thinking it, because Megan hadn't said that to make her sad but it was just a fact that Graham couldn't bring her home with her. Not yet, anyway. And it was okay to acknowledge that and move on from it, because it was more important right now for Graham to know that she was wanted, right here, with Megan.

"Come on, let's make some popcorn or something," said Graham finally. Megan knew a subject change when she heard one, and welcomed it. "Our tree needs more decorations."

"Our tree is going to fall over if we put too much on it," said Megan, laughing, but she was already heading for her needle and thread. She knew what her role was in this little operation, and it wasn't operating the machinery, kitchen appliance or otherwise.

 

_sixteen_

"Is that dog dressed up in a holiday sweater and bells?"

"Isn't it the cutest thing you've ever seen?"

"It really is not," said Graham. "That poor dog."

"He's smiling."

"Dogs don't smile," said Graham, still staring at the abomination. The cute abomination. "Figures it's from Lloyd and Larry."

"I think it's really nice that they remembered us," said Megan. "We should really go out and visit them some time."

"And do what?" said Graham. "Go on guerrilla missions with them? Visit the Cocksucker?"

"They gave me a place to live when I had nowhere to go," said Megan, opening the card. And she would never forget that. Not ever. "They helped me get you back."

"Yeah. Yeah, they did," said Graham softly, looking at the smiling faces beaming out at them from the photograph inside the card. "Okay, we can go visit them. Maybe even bring them a present or something."

"That's a _great_ idea," said Megan, and squeezed her tightly before finding a place to put up one more card.

 

_seventeen_

The plain white envelope arrived on December 22, the last day of mail delivery before Christmas. Graham picked up the mail that day, and opened it herself while Megan made lunch (homemade soup and freshly baked rolls).

"I...I think it's from my father," said Graham, turning the card over to look at the blank back, then to the front again to stare at the generic winter scene. Inside it said only Merry Christmas, but she knew that handwriting. She'd seen it on cheques her whole life.

"Well," said Megan, staring at it with her for a moment then sitting down with her, lunch abandoned. "It's a start?"

Graham still held the card in one hand, and with the other she reached for Megan's. Megan's soft hand which was freely and quickly given. Graham laced their fingers and squeezed, and nothing needed to be said. She let that warm silence settle her head and quicken her heart.

"Yeah," she said, part disappointment but part wonder, too. She was in her own tiny apartment with her girlfriend getting ready to celebrate Christmas, and here was a holiday card from her family, reaching out to her, if only a little.

It was a start.


End file.
